


cause a hundred veils to fall

by betony



Category: Ms. Marvel (Comics)
Genre: F/M, Female Friendship, Secret Identity Fail, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-20
Updated: 2014-12-20
Packaged: 2018-03-02 08:02:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2805407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/betony/pseuds/betony
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Best friend troubles, wild deceptions, and mad scientists: or, Kamala Khan, this is your life now.</p>
            </blockquote>





	cause a hundred veils to fall

**Author's Note:**

  * For [st_aurafina](https://archiveofourown.org/users/st_aurafina/gifts).



And then during their perfectly civil conversation at the Circle Q, Nakia announces one, that she is going back to the _Jersey City Herald_ , and two, she is going to be the first person to score an exclusive with Ms. Marvel. 

So maybe that first part isn’t that surprising; Nakia is pretty much the best candidate anyone can think of to be Christiane Amanpoor’s successor and has spent most of the last five years interning at the _Herald_ , so long in fact that the editor forgets that she isn’t actually an employee, and yells at her for taking so much time off to go to school, which means Nakia resigns in a huff. Which is what happened just two weeks back, which means that Nakia is right on schedule to go back and magnanimously accept Mr. Jacobson’s apology. But that just makes the second part even worse. 

Fortunately for Kamala’s dignity (a pronouncement like that deserves some epic spittakes and Kamala just took another gulp of Coke), Bruno plays it cool. Great guy, Bruno. Kamala always knew she kept him around for some reason other than the magic-costume-inventing, secret-keeping thing. Bruno takes another philosophical bite of his sub, chews for a bit, and says: “How come?” 

“Because,” says Nakia, eyes shining, “there’s a new superhero in town and no one—not one single person—has managed to find out anything about her except that she is presumably female, has a major Carol Danvers fixation—“ 

Kamala starts choking again. 

Nakia reaches to pound her on the back without pausing “—and apparently the patience to work out of Jersey City, of all places.” 

Stay calm, Kamala thinks. “Exactly!” she forces out. “Who wants to read about someone who’s not good enough to rate better stomping grounds? Anyone who’s anyone works out of the City, you know, the Avengers, the X-Men….” Does her voice always sound that high? “Fourth tier, probably. Maybe fifth. Definitely not worth your time.” 

She’s not expecting Nakia to turn her most disapproving stare on her. “Kamala! Of all people—Ms. Marvel saved our school!” 

“Excuse me?” says Kamala. 

Nakia’s scowl is ferocious by now. “She did! There’s was a police officer who recognized her, I heard him—“ 

“I don’t believe this,” Kamala interrupts. “You, of all people, are taking a JCPD officer’s expert assessment of a situation for granted.” 

“—and how else do you explain the giant robot that attacked our school just falling apart out of nowhere?” 

“…Subpar workmanship?” 

“And Zoe being plucked out of the river?” 

“Zoe was _drunk_. And I should know, I was ther—um. Not _there_ -there—obviously!—but um, when I showed up at the party, um, she seemed pretty smashed.” 

“I’m pretty sure almost drowning sobered her up.” 

“Or made her you know, hallucinate, out of stress or whatever—“ 

“Kamala.” Bruno sounds exasperated. “stop antagonizing Nakia and let me finish my lunch in peace.” 

That’s it. “Bruno,” in her sweetest tones, “a word?” Bruno grunts. That’s all he gets out before Kamala grabs the back of his shirt and tugs him to the emptiest corner of the Circle Q. 

“What is wrong with you?” Kamala snaps. 

“What’s wrong with me? What’s wrong with you?” 

It strikes Kamala that Bruno perhaps does not understand the gravity of the situation. 

“Nakia,” she explains patiently, “is the reason that the factory downtown had to stop dumping its waste in the river once her articles came out. Nakia called the whole Superhero Registration Act going south before anyone else did. Nakia ,” and, okay, so it’s less patient and more frantic by now, “is going to figure me out in about a _millisecond_!” 

“Relax,” says Bruno, and that’s easy for him to say. “A bit of good press isn’t going to hurt Ms. Marvel any. Jersey City deserves to know more about who’s looking out for them. I’m not saying go public or anything, but, come on, you have shapeshifting powers—“ 

“—Currently on the fritz—“ 

“But you can just make your nose enormous or give yourself a wart or something even if she does track you down. What’s the worst that can happen?” 

* * *

So obviously, she should have known it was all doomed after that. 

* * *

Thursday Nakia runs an editorial in the _Herald_ , urging Ms. Marvel to contact her. Obviously Ms. Marvel doesn’t respond, in part because it’s a stupid idea and, more importantly, because there is yet another teen battery to dismantle. Those are the worst—Kamala had thought, after she’d destroyed the Inventor’s lair, that that would be the end of it. But naturally, because that is the way the universe works, he escapes and now seems content to fling the occasional problem at her as a friendly reminder that he’s still a giant pain in the ass. 

About the only saving grace is of this is that school is still closed, with all homework assignments going back and forth through email, on account of coming off the worse in a building versus giant robot confrontation, which, even if it does mean no one is getting a snow day until 2020, at least allows for more time spent vanquishing evil. 

“School is definitely still open,” she told Ammi, that first day after. 

Ammi frowned. “Abba-jaan drove by it this morning on his way to the bank,” she says. “He said it was still demolished.” 

“Classes are held at the library now,” Kamala improvises. “In the basement. We squeeze together to fit.” 

The story holds together, surprisingly enough, mostly because after all these years, Ammi still regards the PTA with some suspicion and Aamir hasn’t set foot in the public library since he got access to the mosque’s collection of religious books. But it doesn’t hurt that Kamala warps back a few streets from her house in enough time to intercept Nakia, who texted her earlier to see if they could finish their Trigonometry homework together. 

“Nakia! Hi!” Kamala waves and pastes a smile on her face. The boy she’d pulled from the battery had been bruised all over. Even if she hadn’t met the teens brainwashed by the Inventor and heard their stories, she wouldn’t have had to guess just how bad a life he must have been hoping to leave behind. “Do-you-want-to-go-to-the-library-instead-Ammi’s-got-her-book-club-over-and-the-whole-place-smells-like-masala?” She takes a breath. “Or, you know, we could go to your house, that’s cool, too.” 

Nakia isn’t listening. Instead she’s frowning at Lockjaw. 

“When did you get a dog?” 

“Not too long back.” Kamala shrugs. “He followed me home the other night and Ammi and Abba said I could keep him. Do you want to get some pizza before we study? I’m starving.” 

“I’ve seen that dog,” Nakia says slowly. “The day the school was attacked. He had an antenna on his head.” 

For the first time, Kamala wishes desperately that Lockjaw was maybe a tad less conspicuous, along the lines of a labradoodle or something. Lockjaw must pick up on it; at her shoulder, he lets out a critical rumble. 

“Must have been a coincidence,” she says, horribly conscious that her entire head—no, torso—could fit inside Lockjaw’s mouth. “I’m sure there’s lots of dogs that look like old Lockjaw here.” 

“Maybe,” says Nakia. She’s still frowning. Kamala is sure that’s not a good sign. “Rain check on studying? I just remembered I had some errands to run.” 

“Sure,” says Kamala. Nakia doesn’t wait for her response, though; she starts walking away. By the time Kamala thinks of anything else to say, she’s long gone. 

* * *

Sunday it’s cloned dinosaurs. Except…tiny ones. 

“Did he not watch _Jurassic Park_?” Kamala wonders aloud as she stares at the ankle-high T-rex that’s plodding towards her, and apparently they have movie night on Attilan, because Lockjaw whines in agreement. 

When she meets Bruno and Nakia for dinner later, Nakia looks like a sewer and smells like one, too. 

“What happened?” Kamala yelps, eyes wide. 

“I fell down a sewer and couldn’t get out,” Nakia forces out between gritted teeth. “I was hoping Ms. Marvel would save me so we could talk. I called for help a few times, too. Guess she was busy.” 

”Yep,” says Kamala. “Maybe she’s on vacation, like we are. Maybe you should take a vacation from tracking her down, too.” 

In the corner of her eye, she can make out Bruno shaking his head. She ignores him. 

“Or maybe,” Nakia says, “Ms. Marvel doesn’t have super hearing on top of lacking the common courtesy to reply to her letters. I’m going to take a shower,” Nakia says and gets up. “I’ll see you later.” 

Once she’s gone, Kamala buries her head in her arms and groans. 

“This is really bothering you, isn’t it?” Bruno observes. 

Kamala says nothing. She can’t explain about Nakia, about meeting her for the first time, when Kiki Bahadir was the coolest, prettiest girl in all of kindergarten who’d somehow befriended clumsy Kamala Khan, of all the years when Nakia was the one person whose opinion Kamala respected the most. 

“Argh,” is all she can manage. 

Bruno nods. “I hear you,” he says, and takes another bite of his burrito. 

* * *

Monday everything goes wrong. 

First it’s mind-controlled monkeys, fresh from the Jersey Zoo. Naturally the Inventor doesn’t think of eliminating the poo-hurling wiring of their brain, and Kamala returns to throw herself on the countertop of the Circle Q, totally tired and totally grossed out. 

“There are so many _Wizard of Oz_ jokes I am sitting on right now,” says Bruno. 

“Keep it that way, Scarecrow,” Kamala retorts, taking a bracing sniff of bacon before heading to the back room to change back into her street clothes. 

She makes it home to find Nakia sitting on the sofa across from her parents. 

“Ah, Kamala,” says her father. “We were just waiting for you.” 

It’s exactly as awful as she could have imagined. Ammi ran into Nakia at the grocery store and wanted to know what she was doing out of school. Nakia pointed out that there was no school, that there hadn’t been for days. Ammi suddenly had a lot more questions, and now what did you have to say for yourself, Kamala? 

“Um. I. I have to go,” Kamala blurted, and ran. She’d have to face it later—everything about this promised to be worse than the argument about sneaking out to the party, about being late getting home, about forgetting to call once her school blew up—but for now she has to escape. 

Someone’s running behind her. “Kamala?” Nakia’s voice, except Nakia is the last person she wants to see right now. Bruno’s betrayal had been nothing in comparison. “Kamala, wait!” 

She ducks into the Circle Q and into her costume; she wants to be Ms. Marvel right now, not Kamala. Sure, Ms Marvel has problems—several smelly simian ones, in fact—but those she can duck and dodge. 

That’s when she hears the scream outside. 

It’s a robot. Of course it is; with the Inventor, everything comes down to robots in the end. It’s seven feet tall, and bronze, and features a giant TV screen featuring the Inventor’s sneer, or what passes for a sneer on a parakeet’s beak. It’s also looming over Nakia. 

Kamala goes into action. Out of sheer disgusted habit, her fists swell and bat the robot to one side. It’s not one of the Inventor’s better efforts; it sprawls on the ground with only the Inventor’s tinny voice echoing from it. _Blah blah, try all you might, Ms. Marvel, insert nihilistic comment here, blah blah_. 

They’re interrupted by Nakia’s voice: “Kamala?” 

Both of them stare at her, the Inventor clacking his beak in confusion. 

”Well, hello, citizen,” Kamala says, desperately swelling her nose to ridiculous proportions and hoping for the best. “I think you have mistaken me for someone else. Who I’m not. Please feel free not to mention to any hypothetical friends or parents who you might have. Hypothetically.” 

Nakia blinks. “Kamala. I’ve known you since before we lost our baby teeth. I’m pretty sure I can recognize you even if you’re talking to some _bird_.” 

”He’s not a bird,” Kamala says reflexively at the same time that the Inventor snarls, right on cue: “I am _not_ a bird!” 

”….Sure,” says Nakia, and Kamala can almost see her pull out an mental notepad. “What would you say you are?” 

That is how Kamala winds up playing spectator to the weirdest interview she’s ever watched, between a half-cracked TV screen and her best friend. It ends with Nakia assuring the Inventor that she will be absolutely sure to bring his exploits to public attention, and the Inventor warmly telling her that she is a young lady of great persipacity, and if he had known that, he absolutely wouldn’t have tried to tear her limb from limb. 

”So,” Nakia says after an awkward pause after the robot shuffles away. “This is what you’ve been doing all this time. Hanging out with crazy clone Thomas Edison.” 

“Crazy clone parakeet Thomas Edison,” Kamala corrects. “Pretty much.” 

"Is there a reason you never told me?" And to Kamala's surprise, Nakia's voice shakes with what's either anger or hurt. "Your so-called best friend?" 

"Right, I could just march up to you on our way back from the masjid and say: 'by the way, guess what? I'm apparently not 100% human, I can shape shift, and oh yeah, I'm moonlighting as a superhero.' Would you have believed me?" 

"Yes!" At the look on Kamala's face, Nakia goes on: "You're Kamala. You don't lie. If you say something's true, I trust you." Her voice sounds just as strained and finally Kamala recognizes it: frustration. "I always have." 

"You're right," says Kamala. "I'm sorry. Nakia Bahadir, how would you like to join Ms. Marvel's support crew, current roster one disgruntled Circle Q employee, one alien dog, and a whole lot of selfies with random superheroes?" 

Nakia pauses to consider this, puts on the haughtiest look she can, and--despite herself--smiles. 

* * *

Things get better after that. Way, way better. 

"Didn't I mention the community service project Kamala's working on?" Nakia tells the Khans sweetly while Kamala tries her best to look trustworthy and honest. "Kamala must have meant that instead. It's wonderful for her CV--my cousin did one just like it, and she made into ten medical schools just like that." 

That's enough for Abba, who decides the matter settled and ambles back to his recliner to catch the last five minutes of the news. Ammi gets that satisfied look in her eyes and starts pumping Nakia for answers about just how this imaginary cousin managed to make herself such a promising candidate. 

Nakia's expose of the Inventor makes it to the front page, particularly when it explains the multiple disappearances that have puzzled the JCPD straight from the perpetrator--or parakeet's--mouth. It also gets Nakia on the payroll. "It's not a big deal." Nakia shrugs. "It's sub-minimum wage, and they've still mostly got me doing the copying." 

"Still," says Bruno, offering her a celebratory slushy on the house, "a job's a job. Here's looking at you, kid." 

"Besides," Kamala chimes in, "if nothing else, it'll get more teenagers to steer clear of the Inventor and not wind up brainwashed into a battery. I think that's worth something." 

The article about Ms. Marvel, when it comes out, is a short one, relegated to page 17A. "I tried to get it moved up," Nakia says, a little shamefacedly, "but Jacobson wouldn't listen--" 

Kamala doesn't care. It might be short, but it makes Ms. Marvel sound like a real, actual superhero. There's the words _fighting for justice_ and _inspiration to us all_ and a whole lot of other things she never expected to be associated with Kamala Khan of Jersey City. Wolverine sends her a clipping and so does Spider-Man, who adds a whole bunch of suggestions about the best way to photograph yourself for some reason (she'd never have guessed a man who covered all of his face could be so finicky about lighting). 

The best part, though, is this part from the very end: _whoever she is, Ms. Marvel represents the best that all of us have to offer: loyalty, determination, and courage. What's important isn't the woman behind the mask--what's important is that she stands for Jersey City, and Jersey City stands behind her_. 

"There are worse ways to be remembered," Kamala says contentedly. 

"Arf," Lockjaw agrees, and curls up on her bed to go to sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> For st_aurafina, whose heart was as embiggened by Kamala Khan as mine was. I hope you enjoy this and have a wonderful Yuletide, and thank you again for a great prompt!  
> Title after a translation of Rumi.


End file.
